Running Backwards
by crazyredhead93
Summary: One of Peter's old cases catches up to him with consequences that could land Neal back in prison, or worse. Sequel to Worth It?
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Running Backwards**

**Disclaimer- I own my characters and the bad guys, I do not own White Collar or any of its affiliated characters. I also don't own the song lyrics**

**Summary- Set about three months after Worth It? One of Peter's old cases catches up to him with consequences that could land Neal back in prison, or worse.**

**Rated T- There will be whumping and cursing, and therefore small children should not be reading this.**

_And if I only could,  
Make a deal with God,  
And get him to swap our places  
__**~Running up that Hill~  
Placebo**_

Damien Ross was shaking so badly he could barely type. He literally felt as though his fear were sucking the heat out of him. The basement around him was damp and cold; the only light coming from the computer screen that looked like it had peaked in popularity in the eighties.

A clicking sound came from behind him, making Damien flinch. He was all too familiar with the sound of a gun being cocked by now, and he tried not to look at the source of the noise. It would only serve to remind him of what would happen if he failed. Not that he needed reminding.

"Are you finished, or not?" A heavily accented voice from behind asked.

Damien shook harder, but miraculously managed to form the words. "Almost. It's taking longer than I expected because of how outdated this computer is, if I could just have a newer model it would be a lot faster…" He trailed off as a cold, steel barrel pressed against his temple.

"I don't think so," the man said, "You will decrypt the files, Mr. Ross, or you will die. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I am joking."

Damien remained silent, which seemed to please the man. The pressure from the gun barrel was suddenly gone from him temple and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sensing the man's impatience, he turned back to the computer and resumed typing.

The red and blue lights flashed through the window as Agent Peter Burke slipped under the police tape roping off the apartment. A mishmash of uniforms and plainclothes officers stood around the room, most on cell phones or interviewing the few witnesses that had been brought into the room. A few people nodded at him as he crossed the room.

Slowly, Peter made his way into the back bedroom of the apartment. It was almost completely empty, save for a crime scene unit and Agent Clinton Jones. Peter could barely bring himself to look at the scene before him. The bed in the center of the room was coated in a thin sheet of blood, which was dripping down to form a small pool on the floor. Somehow, the pool kept growing larger, regardless of the fact that the donor of the blood was long dead.

The bloody mess could only hold his attention for so long though, and within moments his gaze was drawn back to the body strewn across the bed. Peter repressed a gag as he saw the dark hair coated in blood, the eyes open wide but seeing nothing and he had to turn away.

Neal Caffrey's usually pristine suit was splattered with blood, and his ever present hat lay at the end of the bed, equally stained. Peter looked frantically for the source of blood, but he could find none.

A noise in the background caught Peter's attention, and he drew his eyes away from the gruesome sight. Standing in the blood, his white shoes untouched by the gore, was a face Peter had kept tried to keep out of his memory.

Mitchell Gadson stood in the doorway spinning a small handgun; a large smile lighting up his face. "Hello, Agent Burke," he said.

_This can't be happening,_ Peter though frantically_, this isn't real._

An unexpected shake brought Peter back to reality. His head was planted firmly on the keyboard in front of his computer, and he could bet that the keys had left a distinct imprint on his face.

"This brings a whole new meaning to the term 'beauty sleep'," Neal Caffrey said as he fell into the chair across from Peter. "Did you get kicked out of the house?"

"No," Peter answered defensively, rubbing the exhaustion away from his face, "I just haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Maybe you should stay away from drinking five cups a day." Neal eyed the coffee mug sitting on Peter's desk with mistrust. "When was the last time you washed that thing?" He had never seen the mug leave Peter's office unless it was being refilled.

"Shut up," Peter groaned. The dream had left him in an increasingly bad mood, intensified by the fact that it had been the fourth one that week. The other three had featured Elizabeth, Lauren, and Jones respectively in the leading roles, but they had followed the same plot and Peter was sick of it.

"Fine," Neal said, placing his feet on Peter's desk. "But next time, I suggest you catch up on sleep somewhere Hughes can't see you."

Peter glanced out the window to see Hughes glaring at him with ill-concealed disapproval. "Dammit," he growled and looked back at Neal. "I thought you weren't coming in until this afternoon." The clock behind Neal read eleven-thirty, almost three hours before Neal was supposed to come in.

"June's having the apartment fumed," Neal answered airily, "No one inside for the next twenty-four hours, and I really didn't feel like walking aimlessly around my two-mile radius for the next three hours."

"Understandable," Peter conceded, "Do you need a place to stay?" As much as he didn't want Neal staying at his house, he didn't want him staying with one of his old criminal friends more.

"I have a friend," Neal answered and Peter groaned.

"I swear, if one painting goes missing tonight," Peter warned, "You're going right back into prison."

"Sometimes I get the feeling you just don't trust me," Neal joked. Peter smirked and as he got up from his desk, smacked Neal across the back of the head.

"Do you want lunch?" Peter asked, opening the door to the office, "Because I, for one, am famished."

"Sounds good," Neal answered, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. "There's a great Chinese place down by June's…"

As Peter followed Neal out of the office, he brushed the last wisps of the nightmare away. He had never given much thought to dreams, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

"Mr. Ross."

Damien cringed as the voice returned. He had been left mercifully alone for the last few hours, but he'd known it couldn't last. Thankfully he was seconds away from being done, and hopefully only hours away from being let go.

"Mr. Ross, I hope you won't disappoint me this time," the man said, his voice dripping with mock concern coated in venom.

Before Damien could answer, the computer beeped and files began popping up on the screen. Shoving him aside, Damien's captor leaned towards the screen, grinning widely.

"Print it," the man ordered, pointing at Damien, who rushed to send the documents to the printer. The man almost tripped over the rubbish strewn across the floor in his mad rush to grab the papers. "Get the car!" He shouted to unseen people stationed elsewhere around the house, "We're leaving!"

Damien waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before sliding back to the computer. The files were still open across the monitor, and against his better judgment, he began leafing through them, trying to see what exactly he'd gotten himself into. Courthouse records and witness statements flashed across the screen as he pulled up more and more of the documents, and the more Damien read, the more he realized the magnitude of what he had done. The last file made his heart stop cold, a list of names stretching across the page.

_Arresting Officers:_

_Peter Burke, FBI_

_Clinton Jones, FBI_

_Ryan Bishop, NYPD_

_Mark Hudson, NYPD_

_Ava Hannigan, NYPD_

**A/N- I hope you liked it, an I promise the next chapter will be more exciting, and hopefully quicker to write. The first and last chapters are always the hardest, and now that I have a long weekend that is longer than my spring break thanks to the blizzard from hell, I might actually have time to write.**


	2. Chapter 2

_When your friends can't be found_

_Take a walk into town_

_Do the buildings and cops_

_Make you smile_

_~Do The Buildings and Cops Make You Smile?~_

_~Bedroom Walls~_

The restaurant was small and crowded, but the food was good, and Peter was starving. He and Neal ordered and while they were waiting, Peter couldn't help but ask, "Have you talked to Ava lately?"

Neal paused slightly, and then answered, "No, we've both been busy." He hadn't talked to Ava Hannigan since sneaking out the back of her wedding reception when the guests had begun getting tipsy, and his chest felt like ice picks were slowly working their way through it, courtesy of a 9mm rifle shot.

"You were on leave for a month, and you couldn't find the time to talk to her?" Peter asked, confused.

"She had work," Neal replied evasively. He refused to meet Peter's gaze.

"I don't…" Neal cut Peter off with a glare.

"Peter, I got shot, and Ava was beaten and both of us could've died. We both decided it would be better not to relive that, and having reunions once a week might defeat that purpose." His voice was cold, but Peter could hear a tinge of sadness. He knew that Neal and Ava had been becoming friends, for however brief a period they had known each other.

"So you've been avoiding each other?" Peter clarified, and Neal nodded. "Well you could have just said that. It's not like anyone would blame you." He took a sip of coffee and looked out the window by their table. "I wouldn't want to relive that either."

Neal remained silent as their food came, and Peter regretted bringing up the subject. They had avoided it for the last three months, and Peter had begun to forget the whole ordeal.

"How's Elizabeth?" Neal asked quietly when he had finished eating. Peter recognized it as an olive branch, a way to change topics, and he grabbed it.

"She's fine. Keeps complaining about this one party she has to plan, how they don't like the caterer and now she has to find a new one. And she's pissed that you haven't been by to see her, although I can't see why." Peter muttered the last part into his coffee and Neal laughed. He made a mental note to swing by and visit with Elizabeth.

The waiter came back, leaving the check on the table which Neal immediately grabbed.

"It's okay, I got it," Peter said, reaching for the check.

"Okay," Neal said, handing it over and smirking.

"You do know you're supposed to say 'No, it's okay, I'll pay' right?" Peter said, "Or do they not teach that in conman school?"

Neal smiled and leaned back in his chair, "When I was twelve, my mom and my aunt fought over who was paying the check for ten straight minutes. I was ten minutes late to the movie we were going to see. I never really got over that, and now I don't argue for the check." He slapped a few bills down on the table as he stood up. "I will, however, pay the tip."

"I'll remember that," Peter laughed and pulled out his credit card to hand to the returning waiter. "Where're you going?"

"Back to the office," Neal replied as he pulled on his coat. "I feel like walking, need to clear my head."

"Alright, I'll see you there," Peter said. Neal nodded and pushed his way out of the restaurant into the brisk air.

***

Neal was being tailed. Every instinct he had was screaming that he had a shadow who'd been following him for the last two blocks. He didn't want to look back and alert the person, but he was also aching to know who was lurking behind him.

Veering off into Central Park, he planted himself down on a bench and waited. Whoever was tailing him would show themselves sooner or later, and he hoped they'd have the courtesy not to attack him in broad daylight.

He didn't have to wait long. A man made his way through the crowd and fell onto the bench beside Neal.

"Subtle, Moz." Neal breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his friend. He was tired of dealing with nasty, homicidal characters for the time being.

"Hello, roommate," Mozzie said, obviously enjoying himself.

"Why are you following me?" Neal asked, a little aggravated now that the relief had passed.

"Can't I meet up with my friend just for a chat?" Mozzie asked innocently.

"May I suggest a cell phone next time?" Neal said as he got up from the bench. "C'mon, it's way too cold to be sitting around in Central Park."

"Where are we going?"

"Not we; me." Neal answered exasperatedly, "I've got work." Mozzie grimaced at that, "But feel free to accompany me."

Mozzie trotted along beside him, commenting on various people, mostly their dress habits or work choices, continuing until about a block from the FBI building.

"Well, this is where I get off," Mozzie said, stopping cold in the middle of the sidewalk, causing the woman behind him to veer sharply. "Have fun with Agent Suit."

Neal laughed, "Thanks Moz, and thanks again for letting me stay over at your place."

"No problem," Mozzie s said, and turned abruptly, walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

Neal made his way through the mid-afternoon crowd outside of the Bureau and caught an elevator up to Peter's office. Case files upon case files were strewn across the desk, the ones Neal was consulting on sitting on the far edge.

_Guess it's time to get caught up on my reading_, Neal thought as he grabbed a file and settled into a chair.

***

Five minutes later, Peter walked out of the restaurant and made his way towards the subway station two blocks away. He, unlike Neal, did not have to walk over twenty minutes in temperatures barely above freezing to clear his head. A five minute subway ride would do just fine.

Less than ten yards from the subway entrance, Peter collided with a man carry a stack of books at least three feet high.

_College kid_, Peter thought as he muttered apologies and bent down to pick up the books.

"Thanks," the kid said as Peter helped him stack the books again, "Sorry; it's hard to see with all these in my face."

"What are you majoring in, everything at the college?" Peter asked, handing the last book to the kid, who laughed.

"Pre-med," the kid answered, laughing as he turned away.

"Well, walk carefully," Peter said, and circled back towards the subway entrance.

He almost collided with the man behind him. Skirting around the man he made a mental note to be more observant of where he was going. Pissing some random guy off because he wasn't paying attention was not high on Peter's to-do list.

"Agent Burke," a voice called from behind him. Peter turned to see the man he had almost collided with reaching into his pocket. The motion itself made Peter instinctively grab for his weapon, drawing it in unison with the man across from him.

"FBI, put your weapon down!" He yelled angrily, aiming at the man's torso.

But he froze as he caught sight of the man's face. The man wore a green hoodie, but underneath there was just enough light to make out the features. The face was scarred on the left side in a horrifying pattern of twists and turns that Peter had seen before.

"Aidan?" He whispered, pausing for only a second. That one second cost him everything.

The first bullet slammed into his leg before he had even registered the sound of gunfire. He collapsed, the weight landing on his injured leg, sending waves of agony throughout his entire body. Vaguely he heard screaming, but his brain could barely process the pain, let alone the chaos surrounding him.

The scarred face appeared above him, blocking out the rest of his already tunneling vision.

"This is for my brother, Agent Burke," the man said, pulling out a knife. This time, he wasn't aiming for the leg.

***

**A/N- Hello, as you can see I love whump and I have an evil mind :) I decided to write this instead of reading the Scarlet Letter, which has to be finished by Tuesday, so you all better hope that I don't have a test on it. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and please keep reviewing (It makes me write faster)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer- I do not own White Collar or the lyrics to "Hide and Seek". The only thing that's mine are the characters I made**

_Oily marks appear on walls_

_Where pleasure moments hung before_

_The sweeping insensitivity_

_Of this still life_

_**~"Hide and Seek" Imogen Heap**  
_

The automatic doors of the hospital almost didn't open fast enough for Elizabeth Burke as she ran into the building. She searched frantically for a familiar face in the room, and through the crowd she spotted three.

Neal, Lauren Cruz, and Clinton Jones were all seated against the wall silently with various degrees of shock and horror spread across their faces. That alone almost made Elizabeth break down again.

Neal looked up as she approached, and stood to greet her, but from his face she could tell he didn't know what to say.

"How is he?" She asked frantically.

"Still in surgery," Jones answered lowly. He stared towards the door in the far hallway which housed the operating suites. Two men in black suits were positioned on either side of the door, and Elizabeth recognized them as FBI agents. "They're not letting anyone in."

"I have to see him," she argued stubbornly, and Neal knew that the two agents by the door would be no match for Elizabeth if she really wanted to get in.

"I would advise staying put," a cold voice interrupted from behind them, "I wouldn't want a distraction to complicate the surgery."

Elizabeth whirled on her heals to face a tall, dark haired man in a standard black suit. He smiled at her, but there was no warmth in his eyes, and Elizabeth could tell that the man didn't care about her husband's surgery.

"Agent Detweiler," the man said, extending a hand which Elizabeth ignored. "I work for OPR."

Neal immediately appeared at her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Did you guys finally get tired of sending Fowler to harass us?" He asked bitterly, glaring at Detweiler.

Detweiler glanced casually at Neal, "Mr. Caffrey, unless you want to end up in prison again, I would mind your tongue."

"Last I checked, mouthing off wasn't a federal offense," Elizabeth said, her temper growing shorter.

"No, but assaulting a federal agent is," Detweiler countered.

"It hasn't come to that yet, Agent Detweiler." Neal spat out the name bitterly.

"I wasn't talking about myself, Caffrey; I was talking about Agent Burke."

Damien blinked frantically as bright light streamed into the pitch black basement. The power had gone out hours before, and he was beginning to wonder if the basement was to be his grave.

It still might, he realized, as footsteps echoed down the staircase. There was nothing to stop the men holding him prisoner from killing him and dumping his body where ever it was convenient.

Pushing himself as close to the wall as possible, not that it would do any good, and waited as the figure reached the bottom of the stairs. A large manila folder flew at Damien's feet and landed with a resounding crack on the floor.

"In there are instructions for one last task. I think you should find them explanatory enough." A shadow fell behind the man and grew larger as two more people descended the steps. They were carrying bulky objects which were hard to make out in the gloom. "I also brought you some new toys, as I was made aware that the computers currently in your possession would be inadequate for the new task at hand."

Damien bit his tongue as his captor ascended the stairs and the men began installing the computers. Arguing would only earn him a one way ticket to a shallow grave, and he was determined to make it out of his prison in more or less one piece.

It took what seemed like hours for the men to finish installing the hardware, and Damien remained pressed as flat against the wall as possible for no reason other than the fact that he didn't believe he wouldn't be shot at the first movement he made. Finally, when the cramping in his legs became almost unbearable, the final wire was connected and he was left in peace.

Sighing with relief, Damien slid to the floor and reached to grab the folder. There were only two pieces of paper inside, but the instructions on them left no room for error. He sat for a few minutes more before clambering to his feet and walking cautiously over to the new setup of computers. They powered on with ease, bringing a much needed smile to Damien's face. If he was going to be forced to break the law against his will, at least he could do it in style.

Elizabeth let out a disbelieving laugh. "You can't honestly believe that Neal attacked Peter?"

"Honestly, Mrs. Burke, yes I can. A world class art thief kept on a leash by an FBI agent? My guess is that the collar started chaffing Mr. Caffrey and he wanted it off."

"Maybe you should stick to desk work, Agent Detweiler, because obviously your investigating skills aren't up to par." Neal hiked up a pant leg, showing the tracking anklet underneath. "I believe the marshals have a nifty little device that shows you where I've been at any moment of any day. Or is that above your clearance level?"

Detweiler merely smiled. "Mr. Caffrey, I'm well aware of your anklet. I'm also aware of the fact that at the time Agent Burke was attacked, your anklet was mysteriously not transmitting. Now Mr. Caffrey, do you have any witty retorts for that?"

**A/N- I sincerely apologize for the wait and I'm sorry this is so short, but lately I've had way too much to do and I was going through a rough patch, but hopefully after March is over I'll have more time to write. I hoped you liked it.**


	4. Chapter 4

* I own nothing...not _White Collar_, not the characters created by USA Network, not Breaking Benjamin's lyrics

_Show me how it ends it's alright_  
_ Show me how defenseless you really are_  
_ satisfied and empty inside_  
_ Well, that's alright, let's give this another try_

~_So Cold~ Breaking Benjamin_

Time had lost all meaning in the basement Damien Ross had begun to call home. The house had been quiet for what seemed like ages, but for what could have been minutes. During that time Damien had become numb, both from the cold seeping through the walls of the basement and the utter hopelessness of his situation. In the beginning, he had thought that maybe there was a chance his captors would set him free, but now he knew the only thing waiting for him was a bullet to the head and a shallow grave. He had seen their faces, could identify them. He was a liability.

Footsteps began echoing on the floor above him, but Damien remained silent. There were no rescuers coming, the men upstairs were not going to have a change of heart and let their prisoner go free. Banging sounds came through the floor and then stopped as the footsteps retreated again and Damien knew he was once again alone in the house.

"Bullshit." Neal's head whipped around to stare at Lauren. He might have expected an outburst from Elizabeth, but coming from Cruz it caught him completely off guard. The agent was standing now, staring Detweiler down with unmasked venom. "I know that OPR has it out for Neal, but I also know that he's not the one who attacked Peter, he's Peter's partner. So why don't you focus your resources on catching the real criminal?"

Neal stared incredulously at Lauren, who only shrugged. He turned back to Detweiler and said, somewhat more subdued , "I know to you I'm just a criminal, but Peter is my friend, and me finding a way to slip my anklet only to go and attack him and then come to the hospital makes absolutely no sense."

Detweiler's response was cut off by the clearing of a throat. Elizabeth turned on her heels to see a doctor standing behind them, looking more than a little uncomfortable from the conversation he had just walked in on.

"Mrs. Burke?" He asked in a small voice, looking from Lauren to Elizabeth expectantly.

"That's me," Elizabeth answered.

"Mrs. Burke, we've managed to stabilize your husband for now, but he's not out of the woods. The first bullet nicked his femoral artery, and the blood loss was substantial. The knife did substantial damage as well, but we can't begin to operate until we raise his blood cell count."

Elizabeth turned white, trying to process the information. The doctor's detached tone left no room for her to draw her own conclusions. Her husband had almost died, and still might. She didn't trust herself to speak and was thankful when Neal finally posed the question, "Can we see him?"

"Not yet," the doctor answered, "He's still in critical condition and we cannot let visitors in yet."

"But…" Elizabeth's protests were interrupted by a cell phone. She turned to see Detweiler calmly pressing the answer button despite the doctor's protests that cell phones were not allowed in the hospital and her hatred for him grew. Not only had he come into the hospital while her husband was injured, possibly dying while accusing Neal of attacking him, but now he was showing no regard for Peter or the hospital by answering his phone.

The call was brief and Detweiler looked up apologetically when he hung up and said, "I apologize but I have to leave." As if anyone there even cared.

Neal, Elizabeth, Jones, and Lauren watched him leave with unmasked disdain.

Without warning he was knocked backwards by a wall of sheer force, followed by a wave of heat that almost suffocated him. Forcing his eyes open, Damien saw flames leaping through the door at the top of the steps. His only way out was being burned before his eyes.

The basic human instinct of survival took over, and Damien let it. He wasn't about to give up and die if there was a way out. A bullet to the head was an almost certain death sentence, besides those one in a billion shots that miss every vital part of your brain, but a house fire was a little easier to escape. Ducking low, he covered his face with the collar of his shirt and moved quickly towards the stairway. A brief glance to the upstairs doorway showed a closed door, but Damien ran up anyway. The doorknob was too scalding to touch, but the wood of the door was weakening and a well placed kick broke the wood into kindling.

The upstairs was worse than he imagined, flames covered almost every surface, and the unburned pathway before him was quickly shrinking. He ran to the door, dodging flames when he could, but Damien knew that he would have serious burns to deal with when he escaped.

Five feet from the door, a pillar of flame leapt up, almost as if someone was trying to keep him from leaving. Damien looked backwards for another exit, but a wall of flame and smoke clouded his vision. Forward it was.

Drawing a deep breath filled with heat and ash, Damien charged forward into the flame.

"We caught a break on the Burke case," the cool, feminine voice of the new OPR intern said over the phone.

"I'm listening," Agent Detweiler said into the phone as he climbed into the FBI issued car in the hospital parking garage.

"About twenty minutes ago, a guy called 9-1-1 saying that he had seen a medium-tall, dark haired guy running up the steps of some large house in downtown New York. Said his shirt had some sort of red stain on it, and he had a duffel bag. Wouldn't have noticed it if a bloody knife tip hadn't poked its way out of the duffel bag. The address he gave matches the listed residence of Neal Caffrey."

Detweiler smiled. _Gotcha_, he though. Out loud he said, "Honey, get me a warrant. Looks like I'm going to be paying a visit to Caffrey's landlord."

**Sorry for the long wait and the short chapter. My dog chased the plot bunny for this chapter away, and with schoolwork I haven't had much of a chance to find it again :P I sincerely hope that it won't take this long for the next update. Anyway, I hope that you liked the chapter. Please review, they make me write faster :)**


	5. Chapter 5

_And if you go chasing rabbits_  
_ And you know you're going to fall_  
_ Tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar_  
_ Has given you the call  
**~Jefferson Airplane~  
White Rabbit**_

"_This is for my brother Agent Burke_."

The knife, the gun, Aiden; everything was circling around Agent Burke's head like a whirlwind, sometimes in a clear picture, sometimes just a jumbled mess. Peter was vaguely aware of his surroundings, the hospital room and the omnipresent nurse, but he couldn't reach them. His arms, legs, even his eyelids weighed a hundred pounds and he was drained of all strength to lift them. So he just lay in the bed, going over the scene again and again. Time blended together, sometimes going so fast that Peter could barely process it, sometime going slow enough for him to see each second.

_"Why didn't you save him Agent Burke_?" a small voice asked. Somehow Peter turned his head to see a small boy standing there, bandages covering his face. Peter knew it was a hallucination, but that didn't make it any less real. _"Why didn't you save my brother?"_

_"I tried," _Peter tried to say, but the words wouldn't come. Somewhere between his brain and his vocal cords the command was lost. Still, the boy understood.

_"Try harder_," the boy demanded as he faded into the surroundings.

88888888

Detweiler was stopped outside Caffrey's apartment by a man in a gas mask and a large tank strapped to his back. "Sorry sir, nobody goes inside. We just started fuming about thirty minutes ago and the air's not really conducive to breathing right now."

"There might be evidence for an attack on a federal agent in that house, I need to get in there," Detweiler argued, waving the warrant in front of the worker's face. "Unless you give me a mask and move aside, you're obstructing justice."

The man stared at Detweiler incredulously for a moment before motioning to another worker and telling him to get the agent a mask.

While the mask was being brought over, Detweiler asked, "Did you see anyone enter about an hour and a half ago? Tall, dark hair, wearing a duffel bag?"

The man shook his head, "Sorry, there were a lot of people going in and out in the last two hours prepping for all of this," he motioned to the tank on his back, "Someone might have gotten in without us knowing, it was a little hectic."

Detweiler thanked the man as he pulled the mask over his face and moved through the tent covering the front door and into the house. _Perfect time to stash evidence,_ he thought as he made his way up the staircase. _Theoretically, the house would be empty for at least a day, leaving enough time for a clean getaway._ The air in the house was hazy, and Detweiler could only imagine how toxic it would be if he tried to breathe it.

Caffrey's apartment was unlocked, and inside was a neat, orderly space that Detweiler would expect from a conman. Easier to find, or hide, contraband when one knew where everything was. It also meant that any kind of clutter stuck out, like a duffel bag with a silver knife puncturing it hastily tossed on the couch.

_Gotcha now, Caffrey._

888888

"Neal, your phone," Elizabeth said, breaking Neal out of the exhausted daze he'd fallen into.

Neal jerked upright and pulled his beeping phone out of his pocket. "Hello?" He answered groggily as he stood up and walked a respectful distance from the group sitting in the waiting room. "Hey Moz, what's up?"

_"Suit, that's what's up,"_ came the reply from the other end.

"Yeah, I know, I'm at the hospital right now," Neal answered, not seeing where this conversation was headed.

_"No, different suit. He just went into June's house with a warrant and came out with a duffel bag. There's something in it, but I can't tell what it is." _

"Mozzie, where are you?"

"_Across the street from your apartment. The suit's on his phone now, I can't hear what he's saying though."_

"Okay, thanks Mozzie." Neal said, hanging up the phone and heading towards the entrance to the hospital. On cue, a cruiser pulled up to the curb and two uniforms stepped out. Both officers had their hands on their weapons and were talking into the radios on their shoulders.

Neal stepped out of their line of sight as the two walked into the hospital and towards the group sitting in the waiting room. Moving closer, Neal strained to hear what they were saying.

"…evidence ma'am. We were told to apprehend and bring him in," one of the uniforms was explaining to Elizabeth.

"That's impossible, Neal would never do that!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "He and Peter were partners!"

"My orders are to bring him in," the other officer replied, "It's not up to us to decide whether he's guilty or innocent."

Neal needed no more incentive. Turning quickly, he walked as quickly as possible towards the nurse's station behind him. He slipped into the supply closet behind the station and grabbed a pair of scissors.

888888

"I don't know where he is," Elizabeth answered for what seemed like the hundredth time. "He stepped out to take a phone call about a minute before you two came in. He probably had to stop at the bathroom or something." She was making only a halfhearted attempt to help. Her husband was lying in a hospital in critical condition while OPR was trying to arrest his partner and friend. Her friend, too. So obviously, she wasn't in the most helpful of moods.

The two officers turned to Lauren and Jones, but they only nodded, agreeing with Elizabeth's statement. Sighing, the officers pulled themselves into chairs, waiting for Caffrey to come back.

Moments later, Jones's phone beeped loudly and he pulled it out, looking at the screen. "Shit," he muttered before looking up at Elizabeth. "Elizabeth, can I talk to you for a minute?"

She nodded and pushed herself out of her chair. He led her to the far wall, feeling the officers' eyes on him. "Caffrey's anklet went off the grid a few minutes ago," he whispered into her ear, "I think he caught sight of our new friends here and decided to run. That's just going to give OPR even more cause to crucify him."

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Neal stepped out of the cab twenty minutes later, handing the driver a fifty and walking up the stairs to the apartment building. He had never been inside, but a month of staring at the address had burned it into his mind and he went straight to the elevator. The ride up felt like an eternity, and Neal had half made up his mind to turn around and go somewhere else when the doors opened out to a brightly lit hallway. Hesitating only slightly, he made his way out of the elevator and turned right, stopping at the fourth door on the right of the hall.

Neal stood there for five minutes before finally working up the courage to rap his knuckles against the door. Another thirty seconds past before the knob turned and the door swung open to reveal a petite, brunette woman with striking gray eyes staring at him warily.

"Neal." It was not a greeting, just a statement.

"Hi Ava."

**A/N-Soooo, yeah. Real life got the better of me for a little while, and I'm sorry for the delay. Part of it stemmed from my inability to stay up obscenely late writing, and the other part stemmed from completely forgetting about this story :P So I hope you liked the update and hopefully I'll be able to post more quickly next time :) Please Review**

**(Sorry for any factual errors or time-line inconsistencies. I honestly don't know why fumigation entered this story and I want to punch past me for putting it there and I haven't looked at this story for a few months so I may have forgotten a few things)  
**


	6. Chapter 6

_It was a thousand to one  
And a million to two  
Time to go down in flames and I'm taking you  
Closer to the edge_

"Of all the places to come," said Ava Hannigan, "It had to be here." She didn't look angry; disappointed was more the word to describe it. "Dammit Neal, do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Your anklet could bring them right here! You're lucky my daughter doesn't get home for another hour!"

Neal lifted up his pant leg to show a bare ankle and gave a weak smile, "They should really make these things out of Kevlar or something. My anklet's currently in the purse of some woman who was walking down the street where I caught my cab."

Ava hesitated, looking down the hallway outside of her apartment, before stepping aside and allowing enough space for him to slip past into the room. He obliged, carefully squeezing into her apartment.

"I guess you heard then." Neal had been counting on having at least a few minutes to talk to her before the official report came in.

"A federal agent was shot and stabbed, and then the prime suspect fled the scene. Of course I've heard. The entire tri-state area's heard, Neal! And you had to bring it to my house?" She was whispering, but her tone grew sharper with each word. "I have a daughter, a family! I can't bring this on them!"

"But you know I didn't do it," Neal stated firmly. "Otherwise you'd have hit the panic button on your pager." He gestured to the pager hanging on her belt. "Someone is framing me. I was nowhere near where Peter was attacked! And what reason would I have to try and kill him? He's the only reason I'm not still sitting in a federal prison!"

Ava paused for a minute, not sure how to answer. Neal could see her mind turning over the facts, and her stance grew a little less defensive as she answered, "They found a duffel bag with the knife in it. It was cleaned off, but there was apparently some blood on it. It's in the lab now, but their pretty sure it's Peter's blood."

"It's a setup. My apartment's being fumigated, there have been men going in and out of it for the past three days getting everything ready. Any one of them could have thrown that bag into my house."

"And your anklet just happened to go offline while Peter was being attacked? These guys have to have some serious connections for that to be even close to possible."

Neal scoffed, "For someone so smart, you're pretty naïve, Ava. The marshals like to think that their network is secure, but for a good hacker, it's like taking candy from a baby." Ava raised an eyebrow. "I mean, it's incredibly difficult and I know of no person who could do such a thing," he amended sarcastically. It almost brought a smile to Ava's face.

"Say I believe that you had nothing to do with it, that you're being set up. Why did you come here? What do you think that I can do?"

"I need your help." Ava immediately shook her head and took a step back, as if to distance herself from the idea. "Ava, please. They'll be watching the FBI, I won't be able to get withing twenty feet of Jones and Cruz. And I can't prove my innocence on my own."

"Neal, you saved my life and I'm grateful for that. But helping you….I can't put my family at risk. Not for anything. I'm sorry."

Neal deflated, falling against the door suddenly. He had counted on Ava's help, it was the only plan he could think of. Mozzie and Alex were great for hiding people, or occasionally even helping the FBI put someone away, but the FBI wouldn't accept evidence from con artists to prove another con's innocence. He needed help from someone inside the system.

"Alright," he conceded. He wasn't about to force someone to help him against their will. "Just…don't tell anyone that I was here, okay?"

She nodded, her eyes downcast. Neal reached around and grabbed the handle, pulling the door behind him open. A hooded figure stood in the hallway, just outside the apartment, holding a handgun, with a knife tucked into his waistband.

"Shit," Neal said, slamming the door quickly. A gunshot echoed, punching through the door where Neal's head had been only seconds before. He slammed the deadbolt into place before the figure could push the door open.

Ava pulled him into the living room as another shot came through the door. "I take it that's not the FBI," she said, rifling through a cabinet next to her couch.

"Not unless knives have become standard issue for the Bureau," answered Neal, flinching as the shots turned to fists hammering on the door. Ava grabbed a hold of a cardboard box in the cabinet, and then her own gun.

"Keep these safe," she ordered, "That's extra ammo, although I'm praying we won't have to use it."

Neal shoved the box into his pocket and Ava slowly made her way back to the door. The pounding had stopped, replaced by a faint scratching.

"Ava, get away from the door," Neal warned softly. He knew the sound of a lock-pick better than anyone.

"My phone's in the closet," she answered, "I need to-" She was cut off as the door burst inwards. The hooded figure charged through the door, this time raising the knife. Neal grabbed Ava's arm and pulled her to the side, just out of figure's path.

The person turned, and Neal could just make out a man's face, but he could not recognize him. Ava, on the other hand, gasped and muttered a name that Neal could not hear. She shook her head hard, as if to wipe away the surprise and pulled herself out of Neal's grasp. The figure turned, and attempted to lung, but Ava caught him by the arm and twisted him onto the ground. Neal winced, knowing that for being barely over five foot, Ava could pack quite a punch if she wanted to.

"Neal, grab me a pair of handcuffs," she said, pointing to her purse on the island.

Neal quickly grabbed the cuffs and tossed them to Ava who pulled the man's arms behind his back viciously. She stood up as soon as he was cuffed, and her foot twitched like she would want nothing more than to kick the man in the face.

"Officer Hannigan," the voice was muffled by the carpet, but Neal could still hear the disdain. "What a pleasure."

"Shut up," Ava spat. She walked slowly towards the door again, making sure to keep an eye on the man. Without looking, she pulled open the closet doors, reached in, and pulled out her cell phone. To Neal, she said, "We call this in and we give him to the FBI. I would bet a year's pay that this is the guy who attacked Peter."

88888

Damien stumbled along the road, stopping every few minutes to catch his breath. As he had predicted, he was spotted with burns that were excruciating. Several times he had considered falling down and not getting up, if only to escape the pain.

A few cars had passed, but none had stopped, and Damien had not wanted to waste precious energy trying to flag one down. No one in their right mind would stop for a man covered in burns and dirt, they'd call the police. And if the police found him, then the men who had kept him captive might too.

The next time he stopped, Damien pulled out one of the pieces of paper he had managed to grab before escaping the fire. The addresses of several police officers and federal agents were printed on the paper, along with phone numbers. Damien needed to find these people, to warn them. He didn't know why his former captors wanted them, but he did know that whatever happened, he was responsible for it. That thought kept him going, pushed him closer to the city lights in the distance.

88888

Ava was interrupted by a knock on the battered door behind her. She nearly dropped her phone in surprise, but when she turned around she saw that it was her neighbor. The elderly woman peered through the doorframe cautiously; taking one look at the man handcuffed on the floor, and let out a small scream.

"Mrs. Jackson-" Ava started, but the woman had already fled from the doorway. "Shit!" She threw the phone into her pocket and raced out into the hallway, where Mrs. Jackson was slamming the door into her apartment.

Neal appeared behind her. "You should probably talk to someone before she calls the police. You know, before some uniforms show up to arrest you for the handcuffs. And the gun. And the shooting."

Ava groaned, and reached into her pocket for her cell phone. A crash, followed by screeching tires, came from the living room. Neal and Ava raced into the apartment to find a shattered window and no hooded man.

"Oh my-" Ava trailed off, "That's-that's not good."

888888

Outside, two officers watched as a man took a swan dive out of someone's third story apartment and seconds later two figures appeared in the window.

"Dispatch, we have a possible 240, looks like a man thrown out of a window. Two possible assailants. Need an ambulance and back-up."

88888

**A/N-** Sorry for the bad ending, I pretty much ran out of ideas but really wanted to get this finished. I hope you enjoyed this update, and once again I'm sorry for the delay. Senior year has turned out to be the hell that everyone promised and more. I apologize for any inconsistencies, and please let me know of any that you find so I can at least fix them :) I promise more characters in the next chapters, Elizabeth and the others will be back!

Also, compgal brought this to my attention for the first time a few months ago, apparently the symbols I had been using to break up scenes were not transferred from word to fanfiction, so I apologize for the run on scenes in earlier chapters and stories. I tried to fix them, but for some reason it didn't take.

I hope that everyone had Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year!


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